Of Whether it is Better to be Loved Than Feared or Contrary
by toomanyfandoms4you
Summary: Claudia cannot stand being locked up in Monteriggioni with nothing interesting to do while Ezio is out seeing the world. One day Mario Auditore invites a young Florentine Assassin, who is destined to be the next Master Assassin, to visit the villa and he invites Claudia to join the Order herself. (M for violence, language, sensuality)
1. Prologue

_Hello! This is my first fanfiction but I have been working on novels of my own imagination for the past four years. My aim is to be a novelist some day, but for right now I have to please my writing muse and get this story out there._

_I have moved Claudia's birthdate to 1470 to make her younger than she is in AC II, Brotherhood, and Revelations. Her role will be much more active than it is in the games, obviously, because I feel that she's a character that needed to be fleshed out more. _

_Please feel free to review and offer constructive criticism – I'll never get better if you don't tell me how._

**Prologue ~ December 31st, 1476**

"I'm tired," I yawned and loosened my grip on Mother's hand. I missed the carriage Annetta's sister hired for us. Mother and Ezio said we had to leave it on the main road and walk the rest of the way to Zio Mario's.

"Only a little while longer, tesoro," Ezio sighed. He lost the spring in his step and the light in his eye. Something happened earlier today, I am not sure what but Annetta took me out of the room when Ezio came back from the Basilica di Santa Croce, but I could hear Mother crying.

Annetta and Paola told Ezio to make our departure after nightfall. They would not even wait for Father, Federico, and Petruccio. I cannot believe we left them behind. I asked Mother why, she looked away and refused to speak to me. I asked Ezio and he hugged me tight and kissed my head. "Tomorrow, tesoro, ask me tomorrow," his voice sounded watery and thick.

The road to Zio Mario's villa was terrifying even in the dead of winter. Jagged, bare tree limbs dangled over the cobblestones, brushing the top of Ezio's head as he forged ahead of Mother and me. They looked like pale, naked hands trying to pluck him away. The sky was inky black with no moon and weak stars. The icy wind cut through my cowl. It was the only thing in arm's reach when Annetta and Ezio rushed us from the house. Ezio wouldn't let anyone, not even Annetta, go back for anything else.

"I'm cold, Ezio," I whined. My fingers were stiff and clammy, I hadn't eaten in hours, and I couldn't move another step.

"I know, Claudia," Ezio stopped and turned around. We crested a hill and saw a small, walled village spread out below, a large villa overlooking all the houses with lights gleaming in its windows. "Mother! Is that it?"

"Sì, Monteriggioni." Mother looked pale and sickly. Surely she was happy to see Zio Mario? I know she missed Father, but Ezio would go back for him, Federico, and Petruccio. "I hope we don't catch Mario by surprise."

"He must have heard," Ezio frowned. "Come, it isn't much longer, down this hill and to the front gate."

Propelled by the villa's warm lights and thoughts of sleep, I ran down the hill past Ezio and Mother. My legs seared with pain from the cold but I didn't care. I would be warm soon, I would see Zio Mario, and he would help Ezio find Father. I raced forward, my heart pounding in my ears and my eyes trained on the cobblestone beneath my feet, it hurt to have the wind in my eyes.

"Claudia, don't get too far ahead-" Ezio chastised me.

"I'm almost there," I shouted back.

"Claudia! Stop!" Ezio's voice filled with panic.

"CLAUDIA!" Mother shrieked. She and Ezio scrambled toward me.

I stopped and looked up. There were two dozen men in Florentine colors a few meters in front of me. One mounted on a fine black stallion Ezio rushed to my side and pushed me behind him. "Go to Mother." It wasn't a suggestion, it was an order. I ran to Mother and she enveloped me in her arms.

"Where are you running to, Ezio?" The man on the horse rode closer, one hand on his sword's hilt the other on the reins. "Why, you left without saying good-bye to Cristina, that omosessuale da Vinci, and even your father's body." What did he mean "father's body?" Father was not dead, he was hiding in Firenze with Federico and Petruccio just like Annetta promised.

"Why did you follow us, Vieri?" Ezio tensed. He had no weapon aside from that strange blade strapped to his arm.

"Il Magnifico wants your head, you killed a Gonfaloniere in cold blood and you conspired against the great Republic of Firenze," Vieri smiled coldly. "Besides, with you out of the way I can have Cristina. What color should her wedding dress be? Ah, I know! Black, for she will be mourning you." Vieri taunted Ezio.

"Let us pass, Vieri, or prepare to fight," Ezio spat.

"You're outnumbered by nine, unless of course you mean for your madre and brat sister to fight." Vieri sneered. "And you've no sword. Shame, I would have loved a challenge from the great Ezio Auditore."

Mother tightened her grip on me, tears running down her cheeks. Ezio stepped forward lackadaisically. "No! Si prega di no!" Mother cried. Vieri's men encircled us and drew their swords.

"Oh don't worry," Vieri shushed Mother. "We'll kill you quickly, that way you won't have to see what we do to the girl. Giacomo," He motioned another man forward. "See that Signora Auditore and her daughter are comfortable, I would hate for them to watch Ezio fail."

Giacomo smirked and sauntered up to Mother. She sunk weeping to the ground and crushed me against her chest. The air whistled and Giacomo yelped, grabbed at his throat and crumpled to the ground. Blood spewed around a thick crossbow bolt buried in his neck. Another bolt flew through the air and hit a thug beside Ezio. Then another and another. Vieri's eyes bugged and he urged his stallion away, shouting curses on Ezio as he fled. What few men remained scattered, eager to keep their lives.

"Maria! Ezio!" Shouted a man running from Monteriggioni's gate. "Are you unharmed?"

"Sì, Mario," Mother laughed hysterically with relief. "You could have killed us." Was that Zio Mario? This man looked nothing like Father.

"My men are the finest bowmen in all Italia," Zio Mario bragged. "You were never safer in your life."

"How did you know?" Ezio was still hyperventilating.

"What kind of Assassin would I be if I didn't keep a night watch on the walls, eh?" Zio Mario clapped Ezio on the back. "Come, you must be hungry, I'll have Pietro make some hot soup while I show you the Villa Auditore, your new home!"

The villa was run down and less impressive up close. I wanted home. I wanted my bedroom with my silk beige sheets and olivewood furniture. I wanted Father to kiss me goodnight and tell me a story of Firenze when he was a boy. I wanted the apple tree in our courtyard, not this dirty old villa. What the villa lacked in grandeur it made up for in food and we were soon stuffed and sleepy as ever.

"Ezio," Zio Mario grabbed my brother's arm as we left the dining room for our beds. "Tomorrow you tell me about what happened. I heard rumors but… is it really true?"

"Sì," Ezio replied meekly.

"In the Palazzo Vecchio?" Zio Mario gaped.

"Sì," Ezio hung his head. "I was there and I tried…"

"Basta, do not blame yourself," Zio Mario waved his hang dismissively. "This whole thing stinks of the Pazzi. We'll talk in the morning. Buona sera."

Ezio's room was across the hall from the one I shared with Mother. I crept from the room after Mother went to sleep and slipped into Ezio's. "Ezio?" I whispered into the darkness. I heard his sheets rustle.

"What is it, Claudia?"

"Where is Father?"

Silence and darkness devoured me. Ezio coughed. I felt cold and scared. Why would my brother respond? After an eternity I realized my brother was sobbing. "Ezio?" I felt my way to the end of his bed.

"They're all dead, Claudia. I watched them die."

_So there's the first chapter for ya. Hate it? Love it? Love to hate it? Believe me, it gets better after this—first chapters are always the worst in my experience, too much set-up to work with and not enough freedom. The next chapter will jump forward to when Claudia is fifteen. Some of Ezio's assassinations have will be altered time-wise as to fit this timeline._


	2. The New Life

_Thank you all for the wonderful reviews and even the follow. My first follower! YAY! :-)_

_Just a quick character note: I'm basing Machiavelli primarily off of his in-game character, but there will be a strong component of his historical person (I have read many translations of his books, over one hundred of his personal letters, and many other civic documents he wrote—I'm a bit of a Machiavelli nerd)._

_Since I now have a beta I will try to make regular updates every Sunday. _

_**Daily Italian Language Lesson:**_

_Basta_ - Enough

_Zio_ - Uncle

_Sarto_ - Tailor

_La Vita Nuova_ - _The New Life_, by Dante Alighieri (READ IT. READ IT!)

_Bongiorno_ - Good morning

_Grazie_ - Thank you

_Cara_ - Sweetheart/Sweetie

_Ragazza_ - Girl

_Signore_ - Mister/Sir

_Madonna_ - My lady (another, slightly older form of _Signora_)

**Chapter One ~ The New Life**

I sighed emphatically as Giuliana handed me another lump of dough to knead. Why couldn't Ezio ever do any work around the villa? Oh, that's right, he was never around. I turned the dough around in my hands listlessly, occasionally pressing it into the countertop. I punched the dough down with my palm and twisted it. Ezio. Oh, Ezio.

Wet and sticky, the dough glued my fingers together. I stuck my hands into the flour jar and coated them. Giuliana could not figure out how to make proper bread dough. She put in too little flour for as much water as she added, and the salt-oh, the salt! I would not eat her salty bread when I was younger. Bread in Firenze is not made with salt.

"Claudia," Giuliana's high-pitched voice irritated my ears. I ignored her and focused on the pattern of the floor. "Claudia! If you are going to help me you must _help_."

_That would require me to actually want to do anything of this_, I silently retorted. "I'm a banker's daughter, not a baker's," I scowled.

"_Basta_," Giuliana yanked the dough from my fingers. "You do not want to be a baker? _Bene_, go make the polenta."

I dragged my feet over to the fireplace with its big cast-iron pot. I wiped my doughy hands off on my apron and studied my task. The chicken stock Giuliana put in it was near boiling, so I grabbed the bowl of ground farro and a long wooden spoon from shelf next to the fireplace. Making polenta was tedious and Giuliana knew it. She did this to punish my insolence. I sprinkled the ground farro into the worn pot bit by bit, constantly stirring and scraping the bottom. I considered dumping the whole bowl of farro into the pot and being done with it—I did that my first time in the kitchen. The polenta would be lumpy but what would I care? Mother would be disappointed, as would _Zio_ Mario, but I did not care what he thought. He was not Father, sometimes I wondered if they had truly been brothers.

Giuliana flung open the shutters and let the late morning light into the stuffy kitchen. The heat slapped me in the face. Summer in Firenze had been sunny and pleasant; summer in Toscana was humid, hot, and muggy. You could not breathe the thick air. It pressed you to the ground with lung-crushing ferocity. Daily thunderstorms rolled across the countryside booming with thunder and drenching the orchards and fields. The thunderstorms brought more heat and turned the whole world mud brown and slushy.

My beautiful dresses made by the local _sarto_ were too heavy for summertime; I wore simple chemises and skirts. I hated the itchy wool skirts and heavy cotton shifts. The chemises clung to my sweaty skin and tickled my back.

_I look like a peasant girl_, I mused sourly. Small wonder Ezio ran away every chance he got. My brother is many things, but mundane is not one of them.

When the polenta finished cooking—it had no lumps, I might add—Giuliana released me. I tore off my apron and ran from the kitchen as fast as my legs could carry me. Ezio was somewhere else in Toscana, San Gimignano perchance, so I could have the library all to myself. I love the cool marble floor, the musty smell of old parchment, the ancient tomes I imagined Father reading when he grew up here, and the high open ceiling. If I shut out the noises from outside, I was in Firenze, not Monteriggioni, and Father was still alive.

I crossed the threshold and dove for my favorite book, _La Vita Nuova_. I ran my fingers over the little book, delighting in its fine leather bindings and gold lettering. The thick, cream-colored paper felt smooth and soft beneath my fingers. Although Ezio teased me mercilessly for reading chivalric romance, what else was a girl my age supposed to do? Someday people in other cities would forget about the Auditore and I could be married. _La Vita Nuova_ grasped my full attention so that I did not notice my mother sitting on a chaise lounge.

"_Bongiorno_, Claudia," Mother smiled kindly. "Did you enjoy cooking this morning?"

"_No_, truly," I blushed and hurried to hug Mother. I sat next to her and smoothed my skirt. "I do not care for Giuliana."

"You must respect her, Claudia," Mother kissed my forehead and cupped my cheek. "Was she pleased with your work?"

"I believe so," I laced my fingers demurely and lowered my eyes. "I only made polenta, nothing special."

"I am sure it will be delicious." I never understood how Mother regained and maintained her happiness. For three years after we arrived at Monteriggioni, she cried every night. She lost her husband and half of her children, yet she persevered when word came that Ezio had assassinated Vieri de'Pazzi and his father Francesco.

"I hope."

"Dante Alighieri, again?" Mother eyed my book choice. "You will never find a husband if you insist on loving a man who has been dead for near a century."

"Mother!"

"You know, the first letter your father wrote me began with a Dante passage: In that book which is my memory, on the first page that is the chapter when I first met you, appear the words 'Here begins a new life.'" Mother's eyes shone with a mixture of emotions I couldn't comprehend. She was happy and sad, yearning and content, tired and rested. "He wrote so beautifully, your father. There has never been a better man." She sighed and closed her eyes, embracing the silence. "Go on, Claudia, I do not wish to keep you from your reading."

"_Grazie_, Mother," I squeezed her hand and left the library, trying in to keep the tears from my eyes. The world swam as I stood up and I felt faint. My cheeks burned with shame; I could barely recall Father's face. I heard his voice well enough, calling, "_Cara_, stop climbing on the trellis," but his eyes and smile had long since faded.

Tired of being stuck indoors, I strolled into the gardens and plopped down on a bench hidden under a weeping willow. My childhood was marked by the terror, the possibility of Templars coming to kill us in the night. The lush green curtain of the willow protected me from the outside world. I hid there as a child, scared past consoling, and now it was my haven of clear thought. A light summer breeze swayed the curtain back and forth as gentle as any mother rocking her babe to sleep. I opened the book and forgot everything except the words before me. My tears dried. A war could rage outside my sacred bower and I wouldn't notice.

"_Ragazza?_" a voice jolted me from my book and I nearly dropped it. I looked around. The sky was ominously dark outside my curtain and the wind had picked up. Today's thunderstorm had arrived. "_Ragazza?_" the voice questioned again.

I looked up to see a man standing outside my bower, afraid to break through the green tendrils that wove my fortress. "_Sì, signore?_" I closed my book and left the safety of my haven.

"Is your master, _Signore_ Auditore, present?" The man asked. He seemed relaxed and stoic, as if nothing could shake him. He couldn't have been more than eighteen yet he bore the harrowing eyes of a sixty-year-old man who had seen too much and cursed the world. That being said, he was handsome enough: dark hair, dark grey eyes, and high cheekbones. He wore the garb of a Florentine merchant's son.

I was insulted nonetheless, "My _master_?" I stared at him incredulously. "Do you have any idea who I am?" His silence answered. "I am _Signore_ Auditore's niece, Claudia."

The man's composure faltered and his eyes flashed with embarrassment. "Forgive me, _ma donna_, I-I did not think… your dress."

"Who are you and what would you have with my uncle?" I demanded, thrilled to dominate this conversation.

"Niccolò di Bernardo del Machiavelli," he swooped into a low bow. "I knocked at the front door, nobody answered. I have come to speak with _Signore_ Mario about the Assassins."

I escorted _Signore _Machiavelli to _Zio_ Mario's personal study, bid him farewell, and went to find my mother. Several other guests appeared shortly thereafter: Annetta's sister, I couldn't quite recall her name (Patrizia? Pietra? Paola?), a burly man with a thick Perugian accent and boisterous manners, and two tall, lanky men, one mysteriously cloaked, the other dressed in a hodgepodge of garments.

"Who are all these people?" I asked Mother as we drank cold tea in her room. Lemon tanginess dashed across my tongue and soothed the day's oppressing heat. The storm commenced its fury, rain pounded on the windows, and lightning flashed brightly.

"People who will keep us, and more importantly Ezio, safe," Mother answered. "You will learn their names in time."

"Shouldn't Ezio be here?" I frowned, uncertain.

"No, and you cannot tell him that they came here," Mother put a hand on my shoulder. "He cannot know who is helping him lest in endanger their lives."

"Quite right, _Signora_ Auditore," Machiavelli stood in the doorway.

"Niccolò," Mother smiled and moved to hug him. "I have not seen you since before we left Firenze. Is your mother well?"

"I believe so. She spends the summers at Sant' Andrea in Percussina; I do not see her often." He cleared his throat and looked at me. "May I take Claudia down to the study, _madonna_?"

Mother exchanged a glance with me. "Of course. Is something wrong?"

"Mario has use of her in our deliberation," Machiavelli quipped dismissively. Ire and reticence rose in my veins, they were talking about me as if I wasn't there. I didn't want to be a part of the Assassins or any of their plans. After almost ten years, I wanted to go back home to Firenze. I wanted to be married, as I should have been by now, or at the very least betrothed. I wanted a brother who cared for me enough to spend more than a day at the villa before going off on another adventure. My mouth grew dry when Mother handed me over to Machiavelli. My stomach twisted into knots and I wanted to run to the bathroom to vomit. Instead, I followed Machiavelli down the hall to the staircase, my steps tense and cumbersome.

A thin sweat broke out on my brow, my fingers fidgeted with the pleats in my skirt. My chest felt heavy, my chemise, never tight before, quickly suffocated me. The hard marble floor turned to mush; my legs liquefied and ran away. Bile rose high in my throat. I swallowed. It persisted higher and higher.

_Keep walking, Claudia, just keep walking. Don't stop. Stop and you'll_-

Machiavelli stopped abruptly and faced me. I nearly bumped into him. Bitter, nauseating bile flooded my mouth and, panicked, I swallowed it back down. My cheeks were so red I must have looked like a tomato.

"Nervous?" He watched me.

"I don't want to be part of anything," I breathed. I could barely contain my worries, fears, wants, needs, and desires; they threatened to bubble over at any minute.

_At least I did not vomit on him. _"I just want to be left alone." Prickles stung my heart.

"Sometimes Fortune keeps from us what we want, and we must find a new path," Machiavelli seemed expressionless as he glided down the stairs. "I assure you, no harm will come to you in this plan."

"I am not scared of physical harm," I blurted out. _Only emotional and mental scarring_. Machiavelli stared at me like I was mentally unstable before moving on to the study. Heat crept up my neck as I blushed. How foolish I sounded, the daughter of an Assassin quivering over being summoned by a council of Assassins. Ezio would laugh at me if he were here, hug me, and tell me not to be afraid. _He isn't here. He is never, ever here,_ I thought bitterly. _I will make due without him_.


	3. On Why You Should Announce Your Arrival

_I apologize for the lateness of this chapter. One of my friends passed away this past week and my schedule did not allow me any time to write. I would like to dedicate this story to him. I am referring to every city by its Italian name (Florence is Firenze, Venice Venezia, Rome Roma, and so on and so forth), so if you think I should put those in the Daily Italian Language Lesson, please put that in a review or personal message._

_Three cheers for my lovely beta, I would be nothing without her!_

_Enjoy!_

**Daily Italian Language Lesson:**

_Certamente_ – Sure/of course

_La Volpe_ – The Fox (will not be italicized after first usage)

_Per favore_ - Please

_Dannazione tutti_ – Damn it all

_Compagno_ – Fellow/comrade

_Messere_ – Sir/Mister

_Nipote_ – Niece/nephew/grandson/granddaughter (and you thought English was hard!)

_Grazie mille_ – Thank you very much

_Buona fortuna_ – Good luck

**Chapter Two ~ On Why it is Optimal to Announce Your Arrival**

"Thank you for joining us, Claudia," _Zio_ Mario beamed at me. I returned a strained smile. He, Machiavelli, and the four other Assassins stood around an ancient oak table in the room's center, a large, freshly drawn map spread out across the table.

"Oh, Claudia my child, how you have grown!" Annetta's sister enveloped me in her arms. She smelled like roses and vanilla. The decade had been kind to her; she did not look a jot older.

I struggled to recall her name when _Zio_ Mario saved me: "You remember Paola, Claudia?"

"_Certamente!_ How could I forget her generosity, _Zio_?" I untangled myself from Paola's willowy arms. "You saved my family's life, Paola, and I am indebted to you for eternity."

"These two gentlemen are Antonio de Magianis and Gilberto _La Volpe_," _Zio_ Mario gestured to the dark haired man in colorfully patched clothes and the hooded man dressed in sandy browns and yellows. "Keep your valuables away from Gilberto-"

"_Per favore_, Mario," La Volpe scoffed. "If I wanted something, it would already be gone," His eyes glittered mysteriously under his cowl.

"_Dannazione tutti_, Mario!" shouted the clean-cut Perugian. "Must I wait forever?"

"And this impatient _compagno_ is Bartolomeo d'Alviano," _Zio_ Mario smirked at the Assassin.

"It is a pleasure, _messere_," I curtsied elegantly and kept my eyes lowered demurely. "_Zio_, _Signore_ Machiavelli said I was needed for a plan?"

"_Sì_, Claudia," _Zio_ Mario nodded. "Before I tell you the plan, we must know if you are willing to commit."

Confused, I knitted my brow. _Zio_ Mario might be annoyingly secretive, but he was not unreasonable or foolish. There had to be a reason why I must agree to the plan before he explained it to me.

_Ah, ha!_ _A test, what else can it be? _Zio _Mario questions my loyalty and I cannot let him down, not in front of his peers_. I wiped all emotion from my face and took a deep breath.

"I agree, _Zio_."

"Excellent, I knew you would," _Zio_ Mario squeezed my arm tenderly and turned his attention to the other Assassins. "Now, Paola, Antonio, Niccolò, and Bartolomeo have invited you to commence your Assassin training…" My ears shut out the rest. La Volpe did not want me? What had I done to anger him? I saw no fury in his eyes, no hatred. I scowled in La Volpe.

_What, because I am woman you think I lack the necessary attributes to be an Assassin? I shall show you, you arrogant little_—

"Claudia? Claudia?" _Zio_ Mario sounded concerned. I blinked and turned my gaze to him. All eyes were on me. "Are you alright, _nipote_?"

"Fine," I quipped, a light blush shading my cheeks. "Go on."

"Machiavelli and La Volpe have offered to assist in your training, when Ezio is not here to witness your progress." _Zio_ Mario repeated slowly.

"Oh, _grazie mille_." I bowed my head respectfully. And then, it dawned on me. "Wait, why must Ezio be gone for me to learn? He could train me."

"Ezio…" Paola stammered for words.

"Does not want you to be an Assassin." La Volpe stated bluntly.

Fury coursed through my veins; Although being an Assassin was not my life's dream, I did not like Ezio dictating my life and its limitations. "Does he?" My voice dipped dangerously low.

"He worries you will be hurt, _piccina_," _Zio_ Mario glared at La Volpe. If looks could kill, La Volpe would have been in his grave. "Being an Assassin is no easy feat."

_He worries I will be hurt? If I stay in this villa any longer, I shall to lose my sanity!_ I gritted my teeth, "I promise I am up to the task." _I cannot wait to see the look on Ezio's face when he finds out… if he finds out._

I immediately regretted my decision. Why did I let Ezio's doubts injure my pride? Sweet Annetta woke me up the next morning before dawn and dressed me in fitted cotton trousers and a loose poet's shirt. The trousers felt strange; I had never worn any before, not even to ride a horse. My pitiful legs were exposed for the entire world to see.

_At least the trousers are not itchy or tight,_ I mentally sighed.

Annetta strapped me into a bandeau instead of a corset, and that was a welcomed improvement. She brushed my hair gently, plaited it, and twisted the tamed curls into a tight bun.

Someone knocked on my door. "Is she ready, Annetta?" _Zio_ Mario sounded too awake and excited for this ungodly hour.

"_Sì, messere_," Annetta squeezed my hands good luck and planted a kiss on my cheek. "_Buona fortuna_, Claudia."

The sun had yet to peek over the vineyards and orchards high on the hills. The comparatively cool dawn air caressed my skin while goose bumps ravaged my arms and legs. _Zio_ Mario took me to the training circle down the steps from the villa and introduced me to his head swordsman, Ermanno.

Ermanno looked me over and grunted gruffly. Thankfully, the disapproval in his eyes did not reach his mouth. I was puny compared to Ermanno and my uncle's other mercenaries. Five foot eight with shiny black curls, large brown eyes, and soft olive skin: I was a joke. Paola was a well-respected madam, she did not need to use a weapon or know how to fight a soldier with her bare hands. She could afford to look beautiful and plush without suffering jeers.

I clenched my hands to stop my arms from shaking and strode into the circle. Ermanno closed the gate behind me. "We will begin with footwork." Ermanno stared at my feet. "Which I see you know nothing of." For the next two hours, he manhandled my legs and feet into a proper stance and struck them with a hard wooden pole if they moved out of line. He taught me how to strafe and dodge as the sun rose over the hills and cast a light, golden haze across the land.

My heart pounded in my chest as Ermanno lurched at me with his wooden pole. I dodged backwards and lost my footing, tumbling into the dust. I tasted the chalky dirt and spat it out, pulling myself to my feet.

"Again." Ermanno growled. "You are a dancer, and dancers do not fall." I did not touch a sword, even a wooden practice sword, for a whole week.

Every day I rose before the sun, practiced footwork for three whole hours, broke for breakfast—a meager helping of bread and fried pancetta—and spent four hours with _Zio_ Mario learning how to climb buildings and walls. My legs and arms ached and occasionally refused to cooperate, but I persevered. It did not matter if I fell halfway up a ten-foot wall or slipped in the dusty training circle. I could not stop. I could not show weakness. I knew Ermanno expected me to give up or run away crying after he knocked the wind out of me the first time we handled wooden swords. I knew Mario anticipated pouting and arguments when he pressed me to clamber to the villa's roof. And I knew Ezio would lock me up forever in the villa if he found out.

The sole, wonderful aspect of my training: Giuliana could not require my service and _Zio_ Mario hired a scullery maid to take my place. Thus ended my days of stirring ground farro into polenta, kneading sourdough, and dicing vegetables.

After about three weeks of practice—the last week of which I was allowed to use a wooden sword—I crept into _Zio_ Mario's study, peering around the open door, hoping he would not be there. I slipped in and tiptoed to his desk, unlocking cubby that contained all the letters Ezio sent him. I found the most recent letter, from Firenze, and read it hungrily. Despite all his promises, Ezio never wrote Mother or me. Jealously for _Zio_ Mario prickled my flesh and made my eye twitch.

I heard footsteps outside the study's door. I folded the letter as it had been and stuffed it back in the drawer. The drawer closed as the door opened. I whirled around to see my uncle. "Claudia? Why are you up this late? You have more lessons in the morning."

"_Zio_, I have a question," I fidgeted my fingers.

"Yes, _piccina_?" He drew the Spanish broadsword and set it inside the glass case holding other Auditore heirlooms.

"When the other Assassins were here, you mentioned _Messere_ Machiavelli and La Volpe were to train me," I probed tentatively. "Where are they?"

"Patience," _Zio_ Mario locked the case and pulled his leather gloves off. "They are coming tomorrow. Now, what were _you_ doing in here?"

"Waiting to talk with you," I lied and walked to the door hastily. "My mission is accomplished. Goodnight, _Zio_."

"Until tomorrow, _nipote_."

I tossed and turned in bed. The sun's setting had not cooled the steaming earth. I threw off my sheets, one corner clung to my forearm, and pulled my nightgown up around my hips. Nonetheless, sweat poured out of my body, sticking my back to the fitted sheet. I groaned and sat up on the edge of the bed, my hands folded in my lap, staring at the strange grainy darkness of the room's far corners. The darkness yawned in front of me and seemed to move closer the longer I stared.

Ezio was in Firenze accruing intelligence on Jacopo de'Pazzi, or he had been when he wrote _Zio_ Mario. Jacopo was an ancient relic of a Firenze long since passed and crumbled, but his assassination was essential for Ezio to rise into Lorenzo de'Medici's good graces. And if that happened, if—maybe, just maybe, we could return to Firenze. Or so Ezio wrote.

I never told anyone nor wrote in my journal how Ezio's constant absence ripped my heart to papery shreds. Sorrow mixed with fury to produce a deadly potion flowing through my blood; it made me whack straw dummies in the training circle until all their stuffing floated to the ground. Those dummies _were_ Ezio. I loved him, truly, yet I could not handle being trapped in this miniscule villa in the middle of nowhere while he gallivanted around Italy.

_Whack!_ Something struck my window. I jumped and my heart leapt into my throat. I whipped around and saw a fragment of a shadow out of the corner of my eye. Quietly, I walked to the window, slow as the widow marching in a funeral procession. I flipped the latch and threw up the sash, poking my head out to look around. Nothing. The old Italian maple outside my window shook harmlessly in the wind. I pushed the sash down and latched the window, making sure the lock was secure. I yanked the billowing curtains together and tied them. All of these years, I thought Templars stalked us and conspired our murders. Were they finally here? Imaginary centipedes scurried up and down my spine and goose bumps erupted on my shoulders.

I crawled back to my bed and spread my limbs as far from each other as they could get in a futile attempt to cool down. I yawned while rubbing a plump bruise on my forearm, the latter a courtesy of Ermanno. I lulled myself to sleep imagining Father singing me a nursery rhyme, his voice a rich, handsome baritone.

I woke prior to dawn and searched the room for Annetta. She usually shook me awake and helped me stagger into my clothes, half-asleep and groggy. I opened the curtains and peered out the window. The training circle's torches were not lit and I saw no sign of Ermanno. Drowsy, I stumbled to the wardrobe and jerked the doors open. I clumsily tossed my shirt over my head and I did not notice it was backwards until I stuffed it into my trousers. I tugged on and buckled my newly crafted leather boots and tucked my trousers into the boots. I loved my new boots. The smooth, velvety leather felt like peach fuzz and conformed to my feet as if it were another layer of skin. Every so often, I forgot I was wearing them.

I slinked down the hall and stairs, careful not to disturb the rest of the household. I accidentally bumped into Flora, the scullery maid, on my way to the kitchen. She nearly dropped her cauldron of spring water and apologized for the dark splotches on my trousers.

"Watch your step," I eyed her haughtily.

"You might consider kindness instead of scorn, _madonna_," a voiced retorted. Flora squeaked and I reeled to face the speaker. A darker shadow lingered in the boot room doorway. "Flora is a human being, too."

"_Messere_ Machiavelli," I coughed, my throat dry. "You frightened me," I shot Flora a pointed look and she fled, terrified. "What are—how did you get in?"

"Mario invited La Volpe and me to teach you how to sneak up on an burglar," Machiavelli stepped into the cold, pale light of the servants' hallway. "With _Messere_ Ezio's consistent absence and _Messere_ Mario's traveling around Toscana, someone should protect your mother." I shivered at this comment. Did they truly expect me, one hundred and ten pounds soaking wet, to protect Mother?

"How did you get in?" I clenched my hands and glared at him. How dare he break into my home?

Machiavelli smirked, evidently my ire amused him. "An open window on the top floor. I am rather shocked you did not hear me, Claudia."

_Ezio's Room_. I shut my eyes angrily. I was not allowed up there, no matter what crisis or celebration. I assumed there were special Assassin plans and plots strewn about, and I too untrustworthy to see them.

"I _did_ hear a noise at the window, although that was hours ago," I regained my composure.

"_Sì_, I infiltrated the house, oh, maybe two hours past midnight," Machiavelli shrugged nonchalantly. "La Volpe should arrive presently."

I hated the word 'infiltrated,' 'violated' was more apt. I mentally kicked myself, I should have heard him or further investigated that bang on the window. "What would you have me do?" I folded my arms across my chest and tried to seem taller.

"Wait for La Volpe and incapacitate him," replied Machiavelli. He turned from me and sauntered towards the kitchen. "Do not break his bones… or your own."

I swallowed feebly, barely enough saliva to coat my tongue. My palms sweated profusely and glistened like crystal. Me...incapacitate a grown man and veteran Assassin? Machiavelli does not present himself as a jesting sort of man, yet surely he must be. I slunk inside the shadow of a pillar next to the front door and waited.

Over an hour passed, I moved not a single muscle. My back ached with twinges and my eyelids drooped. Machiavelli walked back past me an hour and a half later. I thought I spied pity in his eyes. He sat on the staircase to wait with me, never heaving a sigh or making a sound. The door creaked as I left my hiding spot to find food. I froze and snapped back, fully alert and ready. I had no weapon and Ermanno commenced teaching me hand-to-hand combat two days prior. How, in all of holy Hell, was I supposed to disable the man called "Fox"?

La Volpe waltzed through the door in a swish of dusky green fabric. He spied Machiavelli and walked forward. "Ah, Machiavelli, have you seen Mario?"

I slithered out of my hiding spot and walked in perfect unison with La Volpe.

"No-" Machiavelli rose.

I sprang into action. I launched myself into La Volpe's back and he staggered. Instantaneously, La Volpe regained his footing, spun around, and delivered a sharp kick to my stomach. I crumpled to the ground breathless and humiliated. "Never stalk a fox, girl," La Volpe offered his hand and pulled me to my feet. "What I lack in education and birth, I make up for in tact."

"La Volpe," Machiavelli put one foot forward, intending to separate us.

"Let me finish, Niccolò!" La Volpe's unsettling, violet eyes flared. "Continually assume your position, plan, and intent are known. If you know I know your plans, the next step is?"

"Alter them," I stood there dumbfounded, speaking without realizing my mouth is moving.

"Use a diversion, set a trap," La Volpe circled me, as a shark circles its bleeding prey. "Remain unpredictable."

The three of us spent the rest of the day working on my stealth, or lack thereof. La Volpe gleefully used Machiavelli as a test subject for all my newly learned skills. Machiavelli slapped me away and chased me off as I brushed against him to pick his pocket. La Volpe also taught me how to constrain my victim in a chokehold.

"Not too much pressure now," La Volpe clucked as I wrapped my arm around Machiavelli's neck. "He is worth a great deal of money."

"Volpe," Machiavelli growled. The resonance of his voice tickled my arm. "I shall repay this act of kindness."

"Oh?" Mischief glinted in La Volpe's eyes.

"Of course, dear friend," Machiavelli strained against my arm. "Leonardo da Vinci seeks more bodies to dissect." La Volpe stiffened and Machiavelli smirked.

La Volpe and Machiavelli stayed for three days, instructing me in various tracking, shadowing, and self-defense techniques.

"Ermanno is a fine mercenary," La Volpe explained over dinner. "Though he lacks the subtle finesse of an excellent Assassin. That is why we are here."

"Thank you, Gilberto," Machiavelli sounded mildly surprised at this compliment.

"I beg your pardon, Niccolò," La Volpe sneered sardonically. "It was excellent Assassin singular, not plural."

Machiavelli groaned and mumbled something I could not hear and Mother steered the conversation in a different direction. Later that evening, I found Machiavelli by my willow tree, staring out towards the rolling hills south of us. I had not had time recently to hide away in its spindly branches.

"_Messere?_" I called out to him, keeping a careful distance. "Are you unwell?"

He glanced over his shoulder at the sound of my voice and sluggishly turned his attention back to the vineyards. "I am fine, Claudia, thank you."

"La Volpe is teasing and sarcastic to everyone," I stood next to Machiavelli and pressed my body flush to the cool, mossy, tawny brick wall. "Why would you work with him if you two cannot put your differences aside?"

"The final stage of my initiation involves assisting in the mentorship of a trainee," Machiavelli spoke concisely. "La Volpe harbors a strong… dislike of me because I was not born an Assassin. He doubts my devotion." A long silence fell over us like an iron weight dragging a corpse down to the ocean's depths. "Goodnight, Claudia." Machiavelli left me and somehow the air grew colder.

Machiavelli 'broke' into the villa multiple times to give me practice in improvisation. Fireplace pokers were my go-to, makeshift weapon.

"It is shaped like a sword, so why not use it as one?" I exclaimed to Machiavelli. His jaw dropped and his face lost blood. "What?"

"Nothing, it is perfect. Do not point it at me, please," Machiavelli shied away from the poker's spiked tip. "I like my blood and prefer to not have it spilt."

By the fourth day, I could wrestle Machiavelli to the ground and keep him down without any assistance or advice from La Volpe. La Volpe congratulated me hesitantly and promised that he or Machiavelli would return to the villa to continue my training.

"Keep your eyes and ears open, Claudia," La Volpe whispered in my ear before he departed. "It could be tomorrow. It could be next week. It could be two months from now. I am forgiving. The Templars, not as much. Let your guard down and death is soon to follow."

Four weeks passed and they had not returned. I returned to training with Ermanno and practiced by stalking Flora around the house. She squeals with terror when I pop out from behind a potted fern or lemon tree. I cannot help but wonder if she fakes her reactions to convince me of my improvement.

One muggy evening, before Annetta drew my bathwater, I sat in Mother's room reading an old French manuscript, _The Romance of the Rose_. Dante's love for Beatrice was pure and chaste. The love in this French book was anything but chaste. The pages' edges were rough, flaky, and worn, for many people had read this book, and that disturbed me. I closed the book out of awkwardness and stuffed it under a pile of papers on Mother's desk. I imagined the soft, blood red rose etched on the book's leather cover and shivered in girlish prudishness.

I walked from Mother's room to mine and as I reached the door I heard the front door unlock. My mind blanked. _Zio_ Mario was off in San Gimignano. Mother and I were the only ones in the house, aside from the servants. I scurried silently to the servant's stairwell and galloped down the stairs to the kitchen. I seized the closest rolling pin and snuck back up to the first floor. I peaked into _Zio _Mario's study. No one. The library. Not a soul. The foyer. Nobody.

_Clang!_ I heard the sound of armor in Ezio's weapons room. Of course, a thief would want the armor and swords; they are the most valuable items in the whole villa. I clutched the rolling pin in a vise grip and tentatively inched into the room. All the candles were out. A dark figure stood over one of the weapons racks, shifting some of the daggers held there. I stepped closer, heart pounding and hands sweating. I raised the rolling pin in my hands and inhaled sharply. The figure turned to face me.

"Claudia?"

"Ezio!"


	4. Two Hours Too Many

Now I'm back on track with my updates. Thanks to litanolastar and Annaprejean for their reviews, and that lovely lady who keeps my tail in line (when it comes to writing). Sorry for a shorter chapter, but I assure you the next one will be quite long.

Enjoy!

**Daily Italian Language Lesson**

_Cara_ – Sweetie/sweetheart; dear (almost any term of endearment)

_Fermarlo_ – Stop it!

_Italia_ – Italy (…)

_Tempus fugit_ - Time is fleeing (this is actually Latin, but ain't nobody got time for a second vocab list)

_Madre_ - Mother

_Molto bene_ - Very good (my favorite phrase)

**Chapter Three ~ Two Hours Too Long**

"Claudia, why are you holding a rolling pin?" My sole surviving brother cocked his head and smirked. "Giuliana must finally be rubbing off on you."

The rolling pin slipped from my fingers and crashed on the floor. I did not hear it. I launched myself into Ezio's arms and buried my face in his shoulder. I pulled back with a grimace; Ezio smelled horrid.

"I rode all day," Ezio laughed. His hazel eyes sparkled with mirth and love. "I did not have time to bathe."

"It is common courtesy," I found my tongue. I cradled his face in my hands. "Mother and I missed you."

"I know," Ezio crushed me in another hug and kissed the top of my head.

"We worried every day."

"I know."

"You promised to write…"

"I know," Ezio replied meekly. "I stalked and assassinated a very dangerous, powerful Templar. If I wrote a letter and it was stolen, we might all be dead."

"I—what if we invented a code?" I broke free from Ezio's arms sauntered to the shrouded windows. I fumbled with the heavy, braided, silk thread cords until the knots fell apart. I shoved the curtains aside and let daylight filter in. The sunlight shone against the millions of dust particles falling gently through the air.

"A code?" Ezio eyed my suspiciously.

"I read about ancient Etruscan codes where symbols stand for entire words and-"

"Claudia," Ezio gaped at me as if I were stark naked and drenched in blood. I quickly scanned my body, desperate to find what offended Ezio.

Annetta dressed me as per usual. Not a single article of clothing was ostentatious or revealing—Oh. It hit me like a stampede of horses. The trousers. The shirt.

"Ezio," I squeaked timidly, wildly searching for an explanation. The shirt tightened across my insufficient chest and the trousers itched my legs. The carefully broken-in leather boots pinched my toes.

"Why are you wearing men's garments, Claudia?" Ezio appeared more astonished than angry.

"I—I—I-" I stuttered, blinked, and burst into tears. "Mother asked Annetta to wash all my dresses and they are not yet dry," I lied. I was Claudia Elettra María Auditore da Firenze, and I did not wear men's clothing.

Ezio cracked a boyish grin and leaned against one of the smooth cherry wood tables. "A ploy to guilt trip me into buying you more clothes, _cara_?"

"_Fermarlo_," I faked an impish giggle. Ezio thought of me as a little girl, not a nearly grown woman less materialistic than her former self. I adored clothing. Soft, salutary silks and light, luxurious linens delighted my slender digits. Yet, I prided myself on complexity and my advancing Assassin skills.

"Shall we to Mother?" Ezio made for the door.

"No," I shook my head and offered a smirk. "I shall ask Annetta to draw you a bath."

With Ezio locked up in the bathroom, I stripped out of my training garments and into a proper dress, though I refused to let Annetta put me in a corset. Ezio, foolish and sweet as always, brought me one of the latest fashions from Firenze. It had a beautifully intricate red silk brocade on the stomacher, contrasted with a soft green woolen gown.

"I hate these infernal things," I cursed as Annetta laced up the back of the dress. "After weeks in shirts and trousers, I want to tear this off."

"Is it truly that uncomfortable? You think you have it bad?" Annetta scoffed good heartedly. "The noble ladies of France and England wear dresses tighter than anything you can imagine, _madonna_."

"How do they breathe?" I twisted my neck to look at Annetta.

"I do not believe they do," Annetta's mouth twitched with a smile. "Why else would the English be so dull? I recall an Englishman your father did business with. He visited Firenze and nearly every person and place he saw shocked him. They say England is very cold and grey."

_Monteriggioni is no _Firenze_, but at least it is _Italia_,_ I relaxed into the dress's elbow-length sleeves and slumped onto my bed. Annetta sat beside me and brushed my unruly tresses into submission. She rummaged through the leather satchel the dress came in and pulled out a fine gold-filigree snood matching the stomacher's gold threading. She caught all my curls in the netting and gently pulled out some strands to frame my face.

"As beautiful as the day you were born, Claudia," Annetta squeezed my shoulders. "Go on downstairs."

Mother awaited Ezio and me in the dining room, dressed and coiffed perfectly. She enfolded me in her arms and kissed my head. "Did you know Ezio intended to arrive today?" I queried. "I nearly clobbered him with a rolling pin!"

Mother laughed, the noise resonated in her chest, "_No_, he did not write me."

I frowned sourly. "He never does."

"Claudia…"

"Mother, no. He writes _Zio_ Mario constantly and we never see one single scrap of paper." I growled. "_Zio_ Mario neglects to let us read Ezio's letters, for all I know my brother loves me not. He uses me-us-as justification for his violent crusade. 'I do what I do for the family.'"

Displeasure rose in Mother's eyes. "I see I raised you more narrowmindedly than I intended. Ezio loves us more than the assassinations and the carousing. Have you grown so proud, so sanctimonious, that you seem to do no wrong and Ezio is consistently at fault?"

Her bitter words soured my mouth like a shriveled grape. "When has he offered to take me with him?" I whined pettily.

"What use is a maiden, on the cusp of womanhood, in a fight?" Mother, exasperated, threw up her arms. "Contrary to your belief, Ezio is not a tourist and his actions have deadly consequences."

"Why am I learning to fight at all, then?" I stormed away from her and folded my arms tightly across my chest. "What is the point if I am not to join him?"

"In time, Claudia, you will," Mother gestured as if to reason with me.

"The time cannot come soon enough," I quipped.

"_Tempus fugit_," Ezio waltzed over the threshold. I prayed Ezio did not hear too much of our conversation. "_Madre_, forgive my unannounced arrival."

"I am most pleased to see you, Ezio," Mother kissed his cheeks.

"And forgive me for not greeting you sooner," Ezio rubbed his neck sheepishly.

"Weary travellers washing off the road's tiring dust is nothing to apologize for," Mother spoke as gloriously as the Poet.

I_s she teaching me a lesson in forgiveness?_ I faked a smile and sat down. _Lot of good that will do. I shall show the world just how forgiving I am._

Thankfully, Ezio had not heard anything Mother and I were talking about before he came in. Giuliana and Flora cooked a splendid dinner of sun-dried tomatoes risotto and tender beef. I drank cup after cup of sweet, clean, cool spring water, barely speaking a word. When Ezio asked me what I did the past few months, I choked.

"Reading, all this girl does is read. She burns through more candles than Il Duomo," Mother rescued me. I coughed the water out of my lungs and gasped for air.

"_Molto bene_," Ezio chimed. "You are still my smart, little sister. Speaking of which, Leonardo begged me to let him visit; he wants to draw you, Claudia."

"He must come, at once," Mother nodded vigorously. "I would be honored and delighted."

"He has been commissioned by a noble from _Venezia_ and plans on moving soon," Ezio drank deeply. "I expect him within two weeks."

"Draw me?" I finished coughing. "Surely there are prettier girls on the road to Venezia. Cristina, perhaps?"

Ezio frowned and Mother kicked my shin. Cristina Vespucci married another man and I knew it. She broke Ezio's heart, but I could not care less. Ezio broke my soul and had left me trapped here—no escape in sight. My training elevated me above my daily humdrum; yet with Ezio home, I would have to resume reading shockingly erotic French poetry and cross-stitching my dowry.

My brother's first day home had barely begun and I already wanted him gone. He would flirt with Flora by tomorrow or Wednesday and she would think he was the greatest man alive. He would preoccupy _Zio_ Mario's afternoons with talk of Templars and revenge. He would bother me when I wanted solitude and abandon me when I needed company. He would secret away to his room and write letters to people miles away. And now his crazy artist friend would invade my personal space to _draw_ me.

_Could this day get any worse?_


	5. Fine dell'estate

_Thanks you to all of my ravenous readers! I am very sorry to announce that I will be moving the updates back to every other Monday-school has me swamped and I need the whole Sunday to be able to write more. I appreciate your patience and readership, and I hope you'll keep coming back. Thanks to my beta, anneprejean, FARK2005, and TrueTriage (for the voices)._

_So you've met Ezio-I shall say he is not my favorite protagonist (that would be Connor/Ratonhnhaké:ton), but, knowing how some of you love him, I promise to give him his dues. _

**Daily Italian Language Lesson**:

_Fine dell'estate_ - Summertime's End

_Pici_ - A spaghetti-shaped pasta that is fatter (obviously this isn't a translation, but a definition)

_Bastardi_ - Bastards

_Omosessuale_ - Homosexual

_Una faccia a culo_ - An assface

_Tarocco_ - Tarot (the type of trick-card game, not the psychic thing)

_Idiota_ - Idiot

_Va bene_ - That's fine (another one of my favorite phrases)

**Chapter Four ~ **_**Fine dell'estate**_

I stood patiently, waiting for Mother, _Zio_ Mario, and Ezio to arrive for dinner. Two weeks passed since Ezio's announcement that Leonardo da Vinci was to come to Monteriggioni. I had yet to see him.

_Not that I wanted to_, I quickly assured myself. I ran my fingers down my dress's crimson bodice and smoothed the skirt, relishing the gentle silk. My arm muscles twitched; I clamped a hand across my forearm, attempting to stop the spasm. Bored, my muscles ached and squirmed. I stretched my arms out and, unladylike, cracked my knuckles. Cold sweat formed on my palms.

Every day, I woke hoping Leonardo would arrive and Ezio would soon leave. I yearned to return to the dusty training ring and face Hermanno. I missed La Volpe's biting, twisted, sadistic sarcasm and his cowl. And every day, I awoke sorely disappointed. I heard footsteps on the marble flooring and looked up.

"Good evening, Claudia," Mother said, as she claimed the chair across from me. We had not spoken more than half a dozen times since our argument two weeks ago. I did not miss her. Spite pooled inside each cell of my being and had intensified since our tête-à-tête. I resented the judgmental harshness of her words. How could she possibly hope to comprehend my feelings and situation?

"Forgive our lateness," Ezio pulled out a chair for me and extended his arm, always the perfect gentleman. "After you, my dearest sister."

"Your sole sister," I sweetly replied. I accepted his hand and sat gracefully with a swish of my skirt. "Besides, all good things come to those who wait."

"Except for Templars, eh?" _Zio_ Mario clapped his hands together, sat, and motioned for Flora to bring the food. "Will you leave us soon, _nipote_?"

"Shortly, I hope," Ezio smiled winningly at Flora.

I dug my nails into my palm. This is how it always starts with Ezio and the maids. If he caused Flora to become lovesick and leave her job, I would kill him—I freed myself from Giuliana's kitchen and was in no mood to return. "Has Leonardo run into trouble on the road?" I nonchalantly asked.

"You are too young to remember, but Leonardo is…" Ezio's voice strained.

"Easily distracted," Mother smiled to herself. "You will be sitting for him soon enough, _cara_."

_Oh, I am in no rush,_ I picked at the _pici_ on my plate. Flora might be a clumsy, easily-impressed ninny, but she knew her way around the kitchen almost as well as Giuliana did. I sat mute and listened intently to Ezio and _Zio_ Mario's conversation, making eye contact with no one.

"La Volpe says his thieves are quite taken with you," _Zio_ Mario drank deeply from his wine cup. "I believe congratulations are in order. Those _bastardi_ are nigh impossible to impress, how did you do it?"

Ezio blushed. "I beat one in a race."

I choked on my wine. Ezio whipped his head to his left and glared at me. Mother put her hands on the table, her mouth ajar with concern. "I am fine," I coughed hoarsely. Oh, God, what joy! What blackmail! Ezio participated in a childish footrace and won the admiration of La Volpe's thieves. Lord above, 'nigh impossible to impress' my foot!

"La Volpe's thieves are the fastest feet in all of Lombardia," Ezio's jaw moved slowly. "La Volpe is a very disciplined Thief Lord."

I nearly blurted out 'I know,' but I caught tongue and bit it, tasting coppery blood. _Thief Lord_, not Assassin: _una_ _faccia a culo_. Ezio did not know about La Volpe's association with the Assassins, did he? "I would not know, dear brother," I retorted sweetly. "I have never met a thief, let alone an anthropomorphic fox."

I slide my gaze to Mother and blinked slowly. A faint smile twitched her lips. I felt victorious. A giddy, bubbly sensation built up in my chest and spread from my forehead to my toes. _Is this how it feels to keep a dangerous secret?_ I rested a hand on my heart to count my pulse. I relished the tingling in my veins and the patch of goosebumps on the nape of my neck.

"And Paola?" _Zio_ Mario grasped Ezio's attention.

"I have not seen or spoken to her since my last meeting with Lorenzo," Ezio answered. "I am sure Leonardo has news of her."

_What is that supposed to mean?_ I wrinkled my nose. Ezio understood the meaning of _omosessuale_ and Paola only had female courtesans. _Unless Ezio wrapped himself up in denial, or Vieri had been lying all those years ago._

I shook the foul memory of Vieri de'Pazzi from my mind and dug into the succulent hare on my plate. My tastebuds reeled from the sage and rosemary encrusted rabbit, strong and savory. I closed my eyes in revelry.

I slammed the door behind me and ripped the crimson satin ribbon from my hair, chocolate ringlets tumbling down my shoulders. I hated him. I hated Ezio. The vicious cycle neared completion. I would sorely miss him, he would come home, I would delight in his company momentarily, he would misbehave, and, finally, I would await his departure with glee. I threw the ribbon in the general direction of my vanity and kicked off my heeled slippers, my feet pinched and red. I flung myself over the bed and muffled my screams in a pillow. I gripped the sheets like a vise and wrung them. Livid, I bit the pillow, fury seething through my body. I grappled with what I bore witness to and struggled to give Ezio the benefit of the doubt.

Ezio never inquired my opinion on moving away from Firenze, though I barely expected him to at the time. I was six, what did I know of the world and our parlous fates if we stayed in Firenze? Nor did he ask my consent when leaving to kill another Templar. If he died, I would take care of Mother alone with no help or support.

_Selfish blockhead_. I rubbed my eyes and thought about the evening's events.

After dinner, Ezio and _Zio_ Mario retired to _Zio_ Mario's study to discuss Assassin matters. Mother pulled me into the library to play _tarocco_. I loathed my hand clutched in hers. She presumed too much if she thought I had forgiven her. Though, being a mother, she knew the chinks in my armor and she apologized. Against my stubborn pride, I gave in. We were giggling and chatting within minutes.

_Why can I not forgive Ezio this easily?_ I interrogated myself.

I adored _tarocco_. We played with cards belonging to Father's great-grandmother. They were thick as _pappardelle_, yellowed, and chipped on the edges. I hoarded queens in my younger years simply because they were images of beautiful women from an era long since passed. Mother beat me in every hand, not that I minded. Years wasted away since I last played _tarocco_ and my technique rusted like a steel blade.

"Thank you for not giving your secret away at dinner," Mother tallied the score of our previous hand.

"I am not an _idiota_," I pouted.

"Claudia, I never said you were," she frowned.

"I jest, Mother." I patted her hand. "Now, where is that king hiding?"

"Are you… restless from Ezio's interminable visit?" Mother studied my startled visage.

"Interminable?" I scoffed. "_Madre_, he is my brother. I love him."

"I love him too, but that does not mean you are immune to aggravation," Mother laid her cards down. "We had a nice, little system running perfectly well. You cannot deny his return has spoiled your training routine, Claudia."

"I am not selfish," I shook my head. "I hardly yearn to be an Assassin, regardless. My family matters vastly more than killing Templars."

"Is that all you think it involves?" Chagrin clouded my mother's countenance. My mouth opened to mend my offenses, and she, my proper and polite mother, interrupted me. "I do not wish to discuss this further at the moment. I think it is time for Niccolò to return for a lesson."

"Why him?" I sounded more ungrateful than I intended. "Why not La Volpe?"

"La Volpe is not going to be the next Mentor, is he?" Mother clucked. "Gilberto is a good man, a dedicated Assassin, and a worthy teacher, but it will not be his job to confirm you as an initiate."

"Mentor?" The _tarocco_ game long forgotten, I raised an eyebrow.

"The Grandmaster of the Order, if you will, although that word leaves a sour taste in my mouth," Mother grimaced. She anticipated my next question: "The Templars call their leaders Grandmasters."

"Machiavelli is going to lead the Assassins?" My jaw dropped. That quiet, brooding, precocious man was going to lead the Assassins? To what, a philosophical debate? "He is barely older than me. Why not Ezio?"

"_Cara_, have you observed your brother lately?" Mother sighed. "He has not been formally inducted into the Order; he is primarily motivated by revenge as of late; he chases every piece of skirt he sees—" I laughed. "Oh, do not dismiss it as false or hyperbole, we know the same truth."

I swallowed my laughter and coughed. "Yes, Mother, I know, all valid points, but Ezio is charming and approachable—"

"The Assassins need allies who comprehend and desire more than charm and bullheadedness," Mother wrung her hands fretfully. "Young as he is, Niccolò behaves far less callowly than your brother."

Mother dealt several more hands of _tarocco_. I paid little heed to the cards in my palm, instead I thought Ezio and how each time we reunited he seemed more distant and vague. Pathetic as it was, I knew more about Giuliana's day-to-day drudgery than Ezio's wild adventures across Toscana.

Tired after another five hands, I bid Mother good-night and left for my bedroom. Ezio and _Zio_ Mario stood outside the library, heads close together, discussing something. They appeared to reach an accord as I sauntered towards the staircase, for Ezio clapped _Zio_ Mario on the back and sashayed in the general direction of the kitchen.

"Claudia," _Zio_ Mario beckoned me over. "Ezio and I are going to put aside a portion of the villa's income for Ezio to use during his trips. I wondered if you would like to manage the books?"

"Is it complicated enough to require books?" I queried, wary of any more dull, menial tasks.

"Ezio thought it would give you a task to combat boredom." _Zio_ Mario murmured, his eyes avoiding mine. "You are a smart girl, Claudia, all you need do is keep enough money out of Ezio's purse so we may maintain the villa."

_Boredom?_ I forced my countenance to appear overjoyed as my blood boiled. _I am bored because I cannot train! Get rid of Ezio, to hell with Leonardo da Vinci and his drawings, and let me climb the villa._ "How much money?" I smiled sickly sweet.

"I do not understand." _Zio_ Mario knit his brow.

"How much money will Ezio… amass?" I refused to mince words. "Will the villa save enough money to survive?"

"Ezio receives three-quarters of all revenues," _Zio_ Mario spoke slowly. "We can survive on the remainder."

"_Va bene_," I nodded, careful to refrain from soaking my words with sarcasm. "Forgive me, _Zio_, I am rather exhausted. Sleep well." I turned on my heels and fought against every muscle in my legs to abstain from stomping up the stairs. In the back of my mind, I heard _Zio_ Mario wishing me pleasant dreams.

I reached the top step and turned pointedly to my right. I strode down the narrow corridor to my room and my hand touched the doorknob when I heard a woman giggle. I froze and strained my ears. The sound resonated from the servants' staircase, the door to which was diagonal to my room. I eased into a stealthy stance and crept forward, sticking my pinkie finger between the door and the doorframe. I peeked through the slim crack and saw Ezio kissing Flora's neck, his arms wrapped around her waist.

It was over. I shook tempestuously, gripping the window sill with white-knuckled hands. Flora was not at fault; Ezio's charm conquered every young woman with whom he crossed paths. Ezio should have controlled himself and left her alone. For the sake of Jesus above, he was only going to be here a few more days—hopefully. Could he not wait until Venezia to sate his lust? I slammed my hands against the sill and let loose a vexed cry. A cooling wind blew against my fingers.

_Wait._ I paused. _I did not open the window. _I spun around and saw Machiavelli sitting nonchalantly in my desk chair, arms folded across his chest. I opened my mouth, but he beat me to it: "Do not scream, please," Machiavelli leapt from the chair grabbed my shoulders. "Remember your brother—"

"You dare speak of him?" I spat, my voice a low, dangerous rumble. I flung his hands from my shoulders. "To the deepest circle of Hell with Ezio!" Machiavelli retreated from me, his aloof visage startled. "He could die tomorrow and I would not mourn the loss. Loss! Ha! What would the world lose, another womanizing bastard—"

"Claudia, quiet down," beseeched Machiavelli, his palms facing me. "What has gotten into you?"

"You presume to interrogate me in my _bedroom_?" I scowled.

"All I am saying—"

"_No_," I marched to the door. "I am through with being told how to behave and what to do." I lay my hand on the knob. "Please leave."

"Claudia—"

"I shall not ask you twice, _messere_," I gestured to the door.

"I go out there and what, Ezio finds me?" Machiavelli laughed mirthlessly. "Assuming he does not eviscerate me on the spot, he will discover our little secret and you will never see the light of day again."

"What are you doing this far from Firenze?" I ignored Machiavelli's biting retort. Ezio would never hurt me and lock me away from the world, would he?

"I thought Ezio would have made for Venezia by now," Machiavelli answered somewhat sheepishly.

"Ugh, he is waiting for that imbecile, da Vinci," I groaned. "Ezio agreed to let Leonardo draw me, without informing me before consenting, I might add."

"Leonardo da Vinci is a genius," Machiavelli noted.

"I could not care less," I growled crossly. "I have not trained in two weeks. I am ready to smash every breakable thing I come across, including Ezio. I was not meant to be cooped up like a pigeon." Machiavelli's face broke into a shockingly handsome grin. "What?"

"I thought you did not want anything to do with the Assassins."

I clamped my arms to my sides, trembling with agitation. Men did not often call me 'hypocrite' with such a delighted countenance. _Ezio may be a strange man, but Machiavelli is far stranger._


	6. The Mice Play

_Here we are again! Sixth post. I cannot express how excited I am to write for you guys. A thousand tons of gratitude to anneprejean, True Triage, Sabreston, and my b-b-b-beta. Also a shout out to Wuestenkrieger—I'm always elated to have international readers._

_Leonardo di ser Piero da Vinci had no "true" surname. Da Vinci means "from Vinci," where he was born (like Ezio Auditore __da Firenze__—from Florence). I am basing him completely off his in-game character in AC II and Brotherhood. The portrait he draws of Claudia (which will happen next chapter) is based off his painting _La Belle Ferronière_ (for her clothing) and his drawing _La Scapigliata _(for her facial expression and hair)_.

**Daily Italian Language Lesson**:

_Asino_ - Jackass

_Naturalmente lo ha fatto_ - Of course he did

_Aspetta_ - Wait

_Cosa_ - What?

_Lo portano a me_ - Bring him to me

_Mercenari_ - Mercenaries

_Ora_ - Now

_Mi dispiace_ - I am sorry

_Salve_ - Hello

**Chapter Five ~ The Mice Play**

Machiavelli sent me out to ensure Ezio was not lurking about the hallway—I had no doubt of where he was—and then asked me to find _Zio_ Mario. "I must speak with your uncle," Machiavelli commanded.

"Excuse me?" I wrinkled my brow. _The arrogant _asino _thinks he can order me around? He is in my room. For the sake of the Virgin Mother! I should kick him out into the night and send him packing._

Machiavelli sighed emphatically and gave in. "Please, Claudia."

"You snuck into my bedroom," I sardonically pointed out. "What would your parents think?" My words achieved their intended sting. Machiavelli's eyes clouded with defensive resentment.

"The opinions of my parents are none of _your_ business, _signorina_." Machiavelli coldly responded. "Let your uncle know of my presence, if you would so please."

"As you wish, _signore_." I gave Machiavelli a sly glance over my shoulder and flounced out of the room. I closed the door quietly behind me and strained my ears for any sound of Ezio and Flora. Thankfully, the two were nowhere to be found amid the deafening silence. I flew down the hall and the marble staircase. My heart pounded with trepidation; the possibility of Ezio catching me or Machiavelli—that prospect knotted my stomach.. I veered to the left and headed straight for _Zio_ Mario's study.

Startled, he looked up from the letter in his hand. "Oh, it is you, _nipote_. What is wrong?"

I froze. How could I explain a man in my bedroom, even one as virtuous as Machiavelli? "I—uh, well there is—oh dear." I fidgeted in the doorway.

_Zio_ Mario sighed and set down the letter. "Use words, Claudia, it is far too late for gibberish."

"_Messere_ Machiavelli arrived from Firenze sometime during dinner," I shut the door and glanced around the room, worried Ezio would pop out and chastise me.

"_Naturalmente lo ha fatto._" _Zio_ Mario groaned and rubbed his brow. "Where is he, _cara_?"

The blood drained from my face, I felt lightheaded and self-conscious. "My room. He was there when I went up after dinner," my tongue flew faster than I could think. "I do not know where to put him, with Ezio in the villa."

"Ezio is going to San Gimignano on the morrow, I shall deal with Niccolò then," decided _Zio_ Mario tiredly. "Put him in the guest room Annetta prepared for Leonardo weeks ago. Tell him to stay there until called."

"_Sì_, _Zio_ Mario," I dutifully obeyed. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Claudia." He muttered and turned back to his letter.

I was halfway to my room when I heard footsteps ahead of me. _Ezio_. My pulse drummed in my ears. The air grew thick and humid, stifling my lungs. I slid between the wall and nearest statue. The raspy sound of my breathing magnified. I feared Ezio hearing me, and pressed against the wall, my eyes snapped shut. I held my breath as the steps grew closer. They paused. I opened my eyes to a tiny slit and saw Ezio surveying the hallway. My heart sounded like cannonballs pounding against a thick stone wall.

_He knows. I am dead. He knows._ I bit my lip and clenched my toes. _Why did I think it was a good idea? Oh God, please forgive me. Please. I have disappointed Father. Please, give me forgiveness._

I fortified myself against Ezio's reprimand and moved to reveal myself. Ezio sniffed and continued on down the hall towards the ladder to his room in the attic. I squeezed out of my hiding spot and fled to my room.

I slammed the door behind me and slumped to the floor. Machiavelli turned around abruptly and eyed me. "What is wrong?"

"Ezio nearly caught me," I whispered.

"Is that it?" Machiavelli cocked his head, clearly disappointed by my histrionics.

I struggled to my feet and gave him a dirty look. "You may sleep in the room across the hall. Do not leave it unless you are told." I was rather fond of ordering Machiavelli around. His erased all emotion from his visage, murmured good-night, and left.

Exhausted, I sluggishly stumbled to the edge of my bed and reached around my back to fumble with the dress's lacing. I pushed the dress off my shoulders and it fell to the ground like autumn leaves, pooling at my ankles. I stepped out of it, picked it up, and tossed it over the back of my desk chair. I yanked the drapes close and tied them together. I slipped out of my chemise and took the nightgown out of my bureau. Barely restraining the sleep in my eyes, I shrugged into my nightgown and crawled into bed. I gently succumbed to sleep's desires and drifted away to serene dreams.

_Slam!_ I jolted awake and looked around, startled. Annetta strode to the windows and tossed aside the drapes. I had never seen her angry, not like this. Her every movement was sharp and clipped. Her lips pressed into a thin, hard line and her jaw locked in umbrage.

"Good morning, Annetta." I ventured.

She shot me a begrudging glance. "Flora will not cease prattling on and on about Ezio. The sound of his name is repulsive." Annetta threw open the bureau and clucked her tongue disapprovingly. "I thought Paola's courtesans sated him."

I sat up in silence and gazed at Annetta, grateful someone agreed with my feelings. It felt ridiculously marvelous to hear my thoughts issuing from Annetta's lips. Annetta swished sharply on her heels to answer my empty gaze.

"Ezio leaves for San Gimignano any minute," Annetta flatly stated.

Pondering her words, I gasped happily. "I want to wear my trousers today, Annetta," I quickly smiled.

Dressed in my training garb, I strode down the main staircase proud as a peacock. I dashed giddily into the dining room. Mother sat primly at the head of the table, taking lady-like bites of a delicate croissant.

"_Buongiorno_, Claudia," Mother set down her roll and wiped her fingertips on a napkin. She eyed my clothes and raised and eyebrow.

"_Buongiorno, Madre_." I kissed her head and took my seat next to her. "Annetta said Ezio left for San Gimignano recently?"

"_Sì_," replied Mother slowly. "_Zio_ Mario has left, too."

"Where to?" I inquired innocently. Last night _Zio _Mario specifically said he wanted to speak with Machiavelli.

"He did not specify." Mother answered coolly.

"May I invite Machiavelli down to eat with us?" I gently probed.

"What?" Mother dropped her croissant.

"Machiavelli," I repeated dumbly.

"He is here?" She sounded genuinely shocked. "How? When? Answer me, Claudia."

"_Sì, sì_, _aspetta_." I prayed Mother would not think I had intentionally hidden Machiavelli from her. Why had _Zio_ Mario not told her this morning? Perhaps Ezio's presence prevented him. "He climbed into my room last night—"

"_Cosa?_" Mother exclaimed, her face a picture of bewildering suspicion.

"While we were eating dinner," I rushed to finish, knowing full well she would not hesitate to flay me on the spot. Blood rushed to my head and I felt faint. "He slept in the room prepared for Leonardo da Vinci."

"What does he want?" Mother's voice brimmed with scornful derision.

"I do not know, Mother," I grit my teeth. "Why not ask him yourself?"

"_Bene, lo portano a me._" She waved my off.

I stomped out of the room. How dare she treat me that way? Assuming I created scandal with Machiavelli while Ezio was off… with Flora. I knocked on Machiavelli's door and waited outside, tapping my foot.

He opened the door and stuck his head out. "Yes?"

"My mother desires your presence." I growled furiously. Not waiting for an answer, I stormed away.

_Forget the Assassins, I should be a messenger boy_, I mused wryly. I felt useless these past few weeks, utterly meaningless. _Zio_ Mario had resumed his customary practice of ignoring me. None of his _mercenari_ so much as looked at me. My life had been vibrant and purposeful; now it was lifeless and dull. I yearned to feel wanted. No, not wanted. _Needed_.

"That seems more akin to a command than a demand," Machiavelli called after me.

_I cannot believe this man's impertinence._ "Downstairs, _ora_!" I spun around, fists clenched.

Machiavelli flinched at my unexpected outburst and hurried to my side. "_Mi dispiace_, there is no reason to shout."

"Why are you so stubborn?" I walked ahead of him.

Machiavelli laughed shortly. "You think I am stubborn?"

I ignored his jape, opened the dining room door, and ushered him in. Mother rose to greet Machiavelli. "Good morning, _Madonna _Auditore," Machiavelli bowed and kissed her hand. "Please, I beg from you the utmost dispensation for my unexpected arrival. I would have come by way of the front door, but Mario's _mercenari_ alerted me to Ezio's presence."

"I see," Mother scoured Machiavelli with her eyes. "Why Claudia's room? Why not wait until dinner was over and then find Mario?"

"Oh." Machiavelli realized why I had been so angry. "_Madonna_, I knew Claudia would not betray me to Ezio. Ezio would have no cause to enter Claudia's room at any point. I could not expect to discern where Mario would retire to after dinner. My reasons are many and…" Machiavelli searched for the right word. "Wholesome, if you please, _madonna_."

"_Bene_, as you say." Mother maintained her unyielding gaze. "Please, join us for breakfast."

Breakfast was tortuously interminable. Machiavelli sat opposite me, but I forced myself not to look at him or directly talk to him. Mother, on the other hand, talked almost non stop about every little snippet that popped into her head: Firenzi, Machiavelli's family, Sant'Andrea in Percussina, and a host of other drab subjects. Drab in my opinion—I longed for discussion of Assassins and training, not Firenzi, although hearing news of my home was palatable.

Mother chatted on aimlessly. I stifled a yawn and took an apple from the ceramic bowl on the table. I murmured _'scusi'_ and left Machiavelli at the mercy of my mother. Happy to be free from restrictive dresses and corsets, I skipped out of the villa and headed for the training circle. Several mercenaries fought each other in the circle as I sauntered down the steps to the wooden fence

"_Salve_. Is Ermanno available today?" I asked one of the men, Alessandro, over the din of clashing swords.

"No," Alessandro shook his head, his curly brown tendrils jostled by the wind. "He left with _Messere_ Mario."

"Oh," I frowned, disappointed training eluded me. "Where are they?"

"I could not say, _madonna_." Alessandro began to walk away.

"You do not know where they are or you do and you cannot tell me?" I cocked an eyebrow.

Alessandro halted. "The first, _madonna_."

"Alright." I mused. I turned to leave, but a new idea sprang to mind. "Wait, Alessandro, would you be willing to practice with me?"

Alessandro visibly paled. "Ermanno did not give us permission to train with you while _Messere_ Mario is away. _Spiacente, madonna._"

"It is not your fault, thank you, Alessandro," I shrugged, hid the agony of boredom from my face. Freedom from the villa and skirts is one thing. Freedom from boredom is another. They do not come hand in hand.

I trudged up the steps and dragged myself into the garden. I heaved a sigh and plunked down on the springy grass. Apple in hand, I laid down and closed my eyes. Tepid early autumn wind wafted over my skin and grabbed at loose strands of hair. I bit the apple, breaking its thin layer of skin, and chewed. The apple's flesh, sweet and mildly sour, rolled over my tongue and tantalized my taste buds. Eyes closed, wind in my hair, freedom was mine. I soared into the clouds, imaging how the world looks from great heights, or, maybe, what it looks like underground.

I finished my apple and tossed away the core. _Some bird or squirrel shall find it_, I eased off my boots and removed my stockings. My bare feet delighted in the pointy grass blades. I ran my hands through the grass and squeezed the soft green bristles. Refreshing and dewy, the grass cooled my hands and feet, forcing me into a comatose state of tranquility.

I must have laid there listening to singing birds, the faint _cling_ of swords from the circle, and the rustling of leaves for two hours. The telltale, chalky _crunch_ of gravel scratched my serenity. I opened my eyes and propped myself up on my hands. Machiavelli.

"Your mother bestows upon you her vindication." Machiavelli announced.

"Wonderful," I rolled my eyes and sunk back on my elbow. "I told her you did not do anything to me."

Machiavelli frowned, uncertain. "She did not think—"

"I am her daughter: naturally, she worried." I scoffed. "How would your mother react to men climbing into your sisters' rooms?"

"You know much of my family," Machiavelli spoke softly. His impregnable tone was neither accusatory nor irascible.

"I suppose." I trained my eyes on a particularly lengthy grass blade, too abashed of my words to look Machiavelli in the eye. _I do not know what to call him: Machiavelli? Niccolò? I wonder which he prefers_, I pondered. Cool autumn breezes

"Do you mind if I join you?" inquired Machiavelli gently. "With your uncle on business, I have naught to preoccupy myself."

"_No_, I do not mind," I sat up and folded my legs under myself. "Lest your boredom increases. Being away from Firenze… I would grow restless—I have grown restless."

"Firenze is the most magnificent of places," Machiavelli agreed and sat across from me. "Yet out here, there is more time to reflect and ponder."

_How much time do you need to reflect and ponder?_ I restrained an eyeroll, making a mental one instead. _There cannot be enough confusion in your life to merit retreating to rural Toscana._ _Melodramatic and precocious, your inane nature precedes you, Signore._

Tired of listening to Machiavelli praise Toscana in Firenze's stead, I changed the subject. "What drew you to the Assassins? Were your parents members?"

"No, and my parents are not exactly thrilled with my decisions," Machiavelli's eyes peered into my soul.

"But you are a man," I quipped stupidly.

"Ezio's reasons for you not participating in the Assassins are not solely gender-based, Claudia." Machiavelli's inflection carried a peculiar harshness, a biting tone I attributed to La Volpe.

His voice drove me to meekness and I desperately searched for a different, less inflammatory topic. I ran my fingers through the grass, eager to focus on anything besides the man facing me. "With Ezio gone," I haltingly probed. "Shall I see you and La Volpe?"

"Volpe, certainly," Machiavelli mused. "He has nothing pressing to care for in Firenze with Ezio gone that his pack of thieves cannot attend. I shall join you if able." I watched him, hoping he would elaborate. "I anticipate my impending deliberation with your uncle will be the judge of that."

"What will you talk about?" I cocked my head. "Forgive me for intruding, if you would prefer privacy."

"I see no reason why you should not know, you are going to be an Assassin, after all." Machiavelli shrugged. "I hope to be elevated to the level of Master Assassin within a year or two. Mario is facilitating and supplementing my final training."

Quiet, aside from the leaves and birds, engulfed us. Machiavelli was the first Assassin, or person for that matter, to tell me information when asked. His trust, in either my secrecy or my competence, seemed far too irrational. Obviously he did not abundantly favor me to discuss his family, at the very least if he had any sisters or siblings. _He refuses to share any personal information, yet is quite happy to ask me my entire life story? The man is like Dante in the _Commedia, _questioning those around him all day and never saying a word about himself._ The air blew in chilly gusts. I hugged my arms close.

"Can you climb a building?" Machiavelli's words caught me offguard.

"_What?_" I shook my head. I heard him perfectly well, I just did not comprehend how climbing a building mattered at the moment.

"You have not trained in weeks, _sì_?"

"_Sì_," I tread cautiously.

"Climb the villa for me." Machiavelli requested.

"That sounds more like a command than a demand," I returned his emotionless gaze.

The corners of Machiavelli's mouth twitched. "Can you climb without having climbed for a long period of time?"

I sighed deeply, conveying my displeasure, and strode over to the side of the villa. I sized up my opponent, studied its terrain. There were plenty of windows, terracotta and brick decorations, and other protruding structures yearning to be my footholds and handgrips. I stepped back several feet and charged forward, jumping up before I hit the wall and grasping the top of the first window.

I dug my nails into the smooth bricks, fiercely searching for any crack or divet to latch onto. My feet could reach the window sill if I stretched my toes, but that support wouldn't last forever. I plotted my next move: the carved brick lionhead two feet above me. Too much pressure would break the ornament, too little would destabilize my balancing act. I hitched my legs up and rested them on the window, right on the mutin bar, and prayed to God. I kept one hand on the top of the window and the other grabbed the lion's gaping mouth. I snuck my other hand up enough to dig into a small nook created by loose mortar. Taking a long, deep breath, I lifted my torso up and put my feet where my hands had first been.

With my arms awkwardly stretched out in opposite directions, I rapidly glanced up at the next three feet to see if there were any apt or easy footholds. Only bricks and mortar lay above me. I mentally kicked myself for not surveying a better starting location, but I had made my choice and I could not let go, not with Machiavelli there. I bit my lip and searched for another chunk of degenerated mortar. None. I eyed the section of the house next to me and quickly made for another window paired with a geometric terracotta design above it. Praying silently, I swung to my right, hoping the momentum would carry me far enough without overshooting my target. I gripped the curls of the terracotta and planted my feet on the top of my new window.

Above this terracotta ornament was an easier path. I scrambled up the next set of terracotta façades quickly, not spending too much time on each for fear of breaking them and tumbling off—nevermind my explanations to Ezio.

The curved greyish-tan tiles of the roof were smooth, sleek, and hard to grip. Had this gotten more difficult? Was I always this cumbersome? It had to be the weeks without training. I was not _this_ awful at climbing, was I? My forearms ached in protest as I pushed up and lifted my body onto the roof. I turned to sit on the edge, dangling my legs and watched Machiavelli below. Two stories up, he looked rather small. The wind was more vehement and the chilled air nipped my nose and fingers.

"Come back down," Machiavelli called to me, a trace of panic in his voice. "Someone is coming."

The trip back down was far more clumsy. I missed the final window and fell the remaining six feet, knocking the wind out of me. The person Machiavelli warned me of rounded the corner as I stood up, eager to catch my breath. Regardless of character, I knew this man could charm the heart of any woman by so much as turning his head her way. He had a captivating aura and, without uttering a single syllable, he swept me away.

"Good day." The man shifted on his feet warily, a hint of hesitation in his voice. "I am looking for Ezio Auditore da Firenze." The way this fallen angel said it made it seem like a question. Realization struck me swifter than my recent fall.

"You must be _Messere_ da Vinci!" I exclaimed, suddenly aware of my clothing and the state of my hair. "Ezio is in San Gimignano at the moment…"

"Oh," the supposed genius fidgeted and took off his red beret. "I see. And you are?"

Heat burned my cheeks and I rubbed my sweaty hands on my trousers. "Claudia Auditore da Firenze," I mumbled weakly.

"_Cosa?_" Leonardo covered his mouth in a mixture of shock and awe. "You are the beautiful young lady Ezio never ceases to talk of? The model for my next great sketch?"

"I suppose." I could barely bring myself to look Leonardo in the eye. I nervously smooth my hair. I shared a quick look with Machiavelli and turned back to Leonardo. "Please, _Messere_, please, please, _please_ do not tell Ezio what you saw."

Leonardo stepped back. "What did I see?" His tone seemed playful, knowing, innocent, and serious all at once.

"Me wearing…" I held back a pathetic sob. "Men's garments."


End file.
